By hook or by crook

Here’ a picture of us coming out of Pigeon’s lock on the South Oxford, a lovely spot.  Kath is doing her stuff with the windlass this time. See the boat down the canal? I couldn’t see if it was pulling out, so I sent Kath down to find out.

No-one was aboard. It had broken from its moorings and blocking the canal so now we see Kath trying to pull it back to the bank.

The mooring stakes had pulled out, no doubt by the boat being passed at too great a speed by someone.  But it seems odd that the boat should have been tied to stakes in the first place as there is a lovely Armco barrier edge to tie to.  Anyway Kath tied her up by dropping the stakes through the Armco steel piling and tying the ropes round top and bottom of the stakes.  The bank was clearly too soft to hold stakes well.  When we came back a few days later we noticed that the owner had used a belt and braces technique of pins in the ground and in the Armco.

When we first got our boat, we soon cottoned on to the fact that securing onto Armco (if there is any) was the thing to do and we went out and bought some of those safety pin /trombone slide type clips.  They don’t cost any more than a mooring stake and you don’t need a hammer to bash them in and white plastic bags to wrap around the top to warn walkers and joggers of the trip hazard.  (Rick made us some nice tennis balls that fitted over stake tops, but they keep getting stolen by dogs.) Then we discovered that the clips can fall out if the rope gets slack or the boat slides about as others pass.  So we bought some mooring chains.  You know, the short chains with a ring at each end.  Also cheap, these can’t come off the Armco or the ropes.  They’re really good, but I get my knees all muddy kneeling down to drop the chain through the piling and reaching underneath to pull the end back up.

Then this year, cruising with Adam on Briar Rose, he introduced us to the other sort of Armco fixing.

Adam swears by them.  They’re obviously quicker to use than chains, and probably don’t require kneeling on wet grass, but I can’t quite see why they don’t wriggle themselves out if the rope gets slack, but apparently they don’t.  I think I might get a pair.  Has anyone ever had them drop out?

The joys of Autumn cruising

I’m so glad we did our cruise over the last few weeks rather than earlier as we had planned.  It’s a great time to be out. There’s something about the autumn light on a fine day that lifts the spirits.  Yesterday we did our final day’s cruise from Napton to Crick in near perfect conditions.  Since we started out nearly a month ago the colours have mellowed while the low sunlight has intensified and the open countryside looked as good as it ever could.








Add to that, the general reduction in boat traffic and the greater availability of mooring space and you have a recipe for an ideal time to cruise. If you should be hiring a boat it would be  a fair bit cheaper too. The hire bases we passed had plenty of boats waiting for customers.  I bet there would be deals to be done.

I wish there was a good use for hawthorn berries, we could have picked a ton of them.  The hedgerows are a blaze of red at the moment. We did make some hawthorn berry wine many years ago, but as far as I remember it was undrinkable. Mind you, a lot of our home made wine was pretty grim in those days.   There are lots of crab apples again this year, so we could easily make a few jars of crab apple jelly I suppose.

What we really wanted to find though was sloes, and there seemed to be a dearth of them on the Oxford canal.

Now I’m back home sorting through the photos and wishing I had taken more, especially of the Leicester Arm up to Crick yesterday, which was looking magnificent. 

We nearly didn’t make it back to Crick.  Only by special pleading did we get the lockie at Watford staircase to let us through as it was closing time just as we arrived.  Then to end a perfect day I backed us into our mooring slot in text book fashion, which tells you of course that no one was watching.  I wish I could say the same about this morning when we took Herbie across to the diesel pump for a refill.  The customary Crick marina private breeze had returned and my return to our slot would best be described as inelegant.  Of course, we had an audience that time.

We saw some interesting boats yesterday but I’ll save those for a later post.

The key to Queen Adelaide’s Girdle

Our second day at the Oxford museums was good.  This time the Natural History and the Pitt Rivers. Although physically linked together by a single doorway, they could hardly be more different.  First the Natural History, like a glass cathedral.  I wonder if it was influenced by the Crystal Palace?  Whatever, it’s a joy to behold with its wonderful capitals at the head of the slender steel columns.


Lovely light for taking pictures of the geological samples like this lump of Iron Pyrites

or this piece of quartz over a thousand million years old.

Passing through to the Pitt Rivers comes as a bit of a wow moment.  A bit like entering a gloomy Alladin’s cave.

Don’t ask me what is in there.  Something of everything, all grouped into little collections based on themes like  devices for making fire, or ways of treating dead enemies. We loved the eccentricity of it and the lovely little handwritten labels on the exhibits.  How about this?:

Now we’re back in the sticks, having spent a pleasant if somewhat bacchanalian evening with Maffi at Thrupp, (in the sense that we got through rather too much wine) and then yesterday up to Aynho, threading the boat through the tiny little lock bridges you get in these parts.


Moored right behind us this morning is the newly repaired Bones. The boat, not the person, although she is around too and we all plan to have a meal in the pub tonight.  We’re hanging around in Aynho so as to time our arrival in Banbury tomorrow for the Canal Day at the weekend.

Gibraltar, Jericho, Bohemia and The Messiah.

Not often you can fit all those things into a blog post, but today I can.
A few days ago we were in Gibraltar, and now it seems that we are moored in Jericho!  My, how Herbie gets around.  Since being here we have been learning a lot about the middle east, because we spent most of yesterday in the Ashmolean musem. Looking at some of the stuff in there it reminds us how late in the day the Western world achieved “civilisation” compared with the middle east.  Some of the artefacts there, 5000 or more years old, show an amazing grasp of technology and craftsmanship.
In a more modern area I stood inches from The Messiah, a famous Stradivarius violin – presumably worth a large fortune.  The funny thing about violins in particular is that their quality isn’t really all that apparent to the casual observer.  A Strad looks much the same as an instrument worth 100 times less. Violins don’t normally have fancy decoration, it’s all about the craftsmanship and the wood.
According to an elderly gentleman I met on the towpath, we are moored opposite what used to be al large steel foundry. Maybe it was there because it had access to the canal.  Now it’s a posh residential apartment complex. I suspect the canal, now cleaned up, is also an attraction for the residents of the apartments and contributes to their high rental value. The Oxford tourist blurb described Jericho as the Bohemian part of the city. I dare say many will regret the passing of the industry and the gentrification of the area.  I leave it to you to decide.
You could look at the old craftsmanship in the museums and at the loss of industry and think that we are losing our skills.  I don’t think so.  In many ways we are returning to an older era when the craftsman works for himself rather than big companies.  You don’t have to look very far these days to find craft potters, musical instrument makers, jewellery makers, craft brewers, boat fitters and sign writers and so on. None of them are getting rich though.
Back in Jericho, just up the road, we found the Victoria pub which turns out to be a real gem. Victorian decor, an upstairs gallery and low lighting, it has a great ambience (or ambulance as we usually say).  Probably the comfiest pub we have visited this year.  We sat for hours reading the Sunday papers provided on the bar. A bit difficult as our table was lit by candle light!
For our final day in Oxford today, we are going to do some more museum-ing at the Pitt Rivers and the  Natural History.  We shall be in danger of being erudite one of these days.

High Diving at Shipton Weir and a Blogger’s dinner

The bit of the R.Cherwell that you have to negotiate below Enslow was  pretty high.

Another couple of inches and we would be in the “Do not proceed” area.  Cautiously we went down the lock and on to the river only to find that it seemed fairly benign.  Cruising at an admittedly smart pace, we were soon approaching Shipton Weir lock and the safety of the canal.

Little did we know that this would be a lock to remember, for all the wrong reasons.

Kath brought Herbie in safely enough while I was happy snapping with the SLR.  Then coming back down the slope off the footbridge. . . .

my foot slipped on the greasy brickwork and I did a dive worthy of Tom Daley.  Two twists and a pike I think it was. Unlike Tom however I didn’t make a smooth entry into the water, but instead onto the path.  Heroically I saved the SLR by sacrificing my knee against the hard floor.  Kath was most impressed with my athleticism.  It is now 30 hours later and my knee is still very painful, not to mention being an interesting colour.
Gritting my teeth we motored on to Thrupp where there are fine moorings thanks to the work of the local cruising club.  It was a fine afternoon with a nice clean bank to work from so I shampooed and polished Herbie’s starboard side.

Blimey, I’m in danger of being one of the despised shiny boat brigade.  Whilst I was hard at it with the elbow grease a car drew up behind me and a gruff voice shouted at me to put my back into it. Hmmm, “I bet I know who that is” I thought, and turning round I found as expected the face of a certain Mr Maffi, known to haunt these areas.
Later in the pub we joined Maffi and Bones and Carol and George form NB Rock and Roll (bloggers all), plus Dusty the coalman and a handful of others for a meal and a drink or three.  We talked all night and didn’t mention batteries or toilets once!  We barely mentioned blogs!
Now, a day later we have arrived in Oxford.  I was beginning to think we wouldn’t find a mooring.  You nearly run out of canal before you find some, but we’re OK here 15mins walk from the city centre.

The other Cropredy pub

I always think of Cropredy as a sort of chocolate box place.  Thatched cottages and log fires in the pub.  The country retreat of Oxford dons.  Last night we arrived here somewhat moist.  You know about the rain at the moment so I won’t dwell on that.  Being cold and wet we opted to eat at the pub, but the Red Lion (which we have patronised in the past) doesn’t do food on Sundays, so we walked on up to the Brasenose Arms. 
I think, without ever going in,  I always thought it to be – how can I describe it – a sort of Daily Telegraph Pub.  Men in blazers etc.  Anyway, I was wrong.  Entering the bar the first thing that assailed us was John Martyn on the PA singing “May you never”.  A bit cool for a country pub I thought.  We sat in comfy leather sofas by the (imitation) log fire supping pints of well kept Hooky while the music moved on through Jimi Hendrix and Bob Marley.  The posters on the wall soon confirmed that this was something of a muso’s pub. Regular visits by blues bands etc.  A prog rock magazine on the table.  The PA was coming through rock band speakers and a 16 channel mixing desk.
Then we noticed the other people in the bar.  Not a blazer in sight.  In fact the public bar side at least seems definitely to be the haunt of choice of the local working man.  Conversations were friendly but occasionally , er, robust.
The menu looked fairly ordinary, but with hints of adventure.  Being too hungry, knackered and cautious to take any risks, we each opted for burgers with blue cheese and bacon.  When they eventually came we got a real surprise.  Looking very cheffy on square plates, the burgers were obviously home made, hugely thick and nicely pink in the middle, the bun was a nice toasted ciabatta, there was a delicious red chutney, attractive salad leaves in a tasty dressing and very good chips.  Top marks.  It was, we both agreed, delicious.
Retiring to the sofa, we were approached by a man encouraging us to take part in the pub quiz. So we did.  40 good general knowledge questions and we got into a play off for the winner.  Then we drew the playoff.  Then on the second playoff we got beaten.  Ah well.  Can you remember the theme song to “The Office” and guess the height of Angel Falls?
Finally, with Jimi Hendrix still doing his stuff in the background we had a go at the meat raffle.  Yes a meat raffle.  An old working man’s pub tradition that I thought had died out.
It just goes to show you can’t judge a book by the cover